Taste of loss
by Chinese Bakery
Summary: They were nothing more than two strangers on a boat. Spoilers for 2x21.


**Taste of loss**

Thanks to becoolbec for beta-reading.

* * *

"I got your message," she said, surprised at how loud her voice sounded to her own ears. It was the first sound to breach the uneasy silence since she had stepped foot on the Christina Rose.

They stood awkwardly on the deck, facing each other from a safe distance, not daring to be the first to speak. She looked tired, worn out. He could only imagine what she had been through during the trial. Looking at her as she arranged her short brown hair self-conciously, he debated what was worse, facing a twelve years sentence when you had been raised by Frontier Justice Frank Tancredi, or being rescued by a man who had once tried to brutally kill her. He should have been the one to save her. Or rather, he shouldn't have put her in that situation in the first place.

Truth be told, he was completely lost. This wasn't how it was meant to happen. They were supposed to jump into each others arms, or have a long and meaningful conversation about their future together, or just stare at the sunset hand in hand – he wasn't sure. He hadn't thought that far ahead, it all seemed ridiculous now. It wasn't a romance novel, and he didn't know how to make the happy ever after happen. Nothing in their relationship had been normal. He wasn't sure he could handle normality anymore.

He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to say something comforting, but couldn't find the appropriate words, if there were any. It suddenly dawned on him how little he knew her. What would she like to hear? What were you supposed to say to a woman who had left everything for you? There was no plan, no rules for this. He had hoped she would come, more than anything, but now she was here, he wasn't sure she should be. There was no way back. She was trapped. Trapped with him. He hadn't thought through what they would do once they had stopped running, but he certainly hadn't expected their reunion to be that painfully uncomfortable. A nagging, horrifying thought started screaming at his ears that she should have stayed away from him to try and mend her life.

They were nothing more than two strangers on a boat.

"Look at us. We're like a couple of teenagers meeting after school for the first time. Michael, we have come this far. This," she motioned frantically to the space between them, "can hardly qualify as a first date."

Couldn't it? Everything had happened so fast. He couldn't handle this –de facto living with a woman he knew next to nothing about. They had kissed, twice, shared a fair amount of flirtation, but never a real conversation. In his former life, he hadn't been very successful when it came to women. He'd had his fair share of casual relationships, and a few meaningful ones, which, ironically, had all ended because of Michael's incapacity to stop himself from over-thinking and second-guessing everything. To exaggerate the meaning of every word, every look. He always expected women to be disappointed when they got to really know him, once they got passed the good looks, the coy smiles and the witty comebacks. In the end, he always pushed them away.

When he didn't reply to her careful teasing, Sara sighed exasperatedly and grabbed him by the neck. She pulled him to her with all the strength she could muster and kissed him full on the lips. Michael just stood there, eyes wide and too stunned to react. He let her open his lips but didn't respond. She tried to tell him with her touch what she couldn't seem to say aloud, and was satisfied to feel his body reacting to her. He wouldn't touch her, wouldn't let himself enjoy it, but he couldn't hide that powerful, burning need. When she finally let go of him, they were both breathless, but the uneasiness remained intact.

He couldn't look at her anymore. He stepped further away and turned slightly, shielding himself from her expecting gaze. It was all they could give to each other, and it wasn't enough. It wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth the sacrifices she had made.

"What? Did I shock you? Isn't it why you wanted me here? I don't understand, Michael."

Of course she didn't. How could she? He had lured her here. He had let her believe that it could work, that they could live here, a happy couple of outlaws, sipping cheap beers while watching the glorious sunset, hoping a zealous Company agent wouldn't venture too close and find them. He had lied to himself, and to her.

When he looked back at her, he saw tears gleaming in her eyes and bit the inside of his cheeks before he said anything stupid. Anything that would make her stay.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Do you want to leave?" he asked in return, half-hoping she would say she did.

"Do you need to ask?"

"Yes. Because you shouldn't. You shouldn't stay. You shouldn't even want to stay," he said, mostly to himself. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. There's no sailing into the sunset. It's never gonna stop. We'll be on the run for the rest of our lives. We'll never stop looking over our shoulder, expecting to find a gun pointed at our heads. When I planned the escape, I couldn't possibly imagine the ramifications…" He stopped to take a deep breath and found he was crying, too. "I'll never forgive myself for what happened to you because of me, and when I look at you, it's all I can see. I see you hair, a part of you that was severed. I see the way you looked on the news, handcuffed and terrified. Your panic when you saw _him_ at the train station. I have imagined what happened in that bathroom so many times, it's the first image that comes when I think about you. You won't show me your arm –the arm _you sutured yourself_, but there are so many scars that you can't hide. When I see your face, I see everything I took away from you and there's nothing I can give you in return but this. Letting you go."

He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the vision of her reddened eyes and moist cheeks, her disbelief, her accusing stare. He kept his eyes closed for a long time, long enough to control his own erratic breathing. He heard light, hesitant footsteps and then nothing but the sounds of the sea.

When he opened his eyes again, he was alone. He sat on the wooden deck, oblivious to the burning sun reddening his skin, and savoured the stabbing pain to his heart, the bitter taste of loss. That intimate, familiar ache. He sat there relishing in his grief and wondered if there ever would be a _normal_ again.


End file.
